


my mind's lost in bleak visions

by millipop



Series: you're my head, you're my heart [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 6 + 1, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Season/Series 06, aka the people she's lost, canon up to 6x09, clarke facing her demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipop/pseuds/millipop
Summary: Six dead friends from Clarke's past she doesn't want to face, and one who's still alive.Clarke runs into people she loved and lost in her mindspace. Maybe it's Josephine's doing, maybe it's her own. But they all want her to reckon with her past and her future. And then there's Bellamy.//season 6 spoilers, canon up to 6x09//





	my mind's lost in bleak visions

**Author's Note:**

> oops, this turned into a monster. I love this format and I decided that Clarke needed to face some people that she didn't have time to, in 6x07. And Bellamy too, obviously. Credit to Daughter for the title and song lyrics throughout the fic. Who knew their lyrical angst fit the 100 so well?  
> Thanks also to ro, who put up with me promising to post this before the episode. I did! But it's still later than I wanted to finish it. Oh well.

_underneath the skin there’s a human_

_buried deep within there’s a human_

The worst thing about her mindspace is the loneliness. Don’t get her wrong – Clarke values her me-time. But all the worst stretches of her life, the ones she thought she wouldn’t survive – are from when she was by herself.

Trapped in that cell for over a year, grieving her father and holding onto knowledge that would get her shoved out an airlock.

Feral in the woods, trying to lose herself in survival so she didn’t have to think about children dead in a dining hall.

Throat parched, lost and sand-torn after Praimfaya, knowing the metal weapon in her hands might be her only option.

She’s just saying, some company would really help. And not someone made from her own memories either. As much as she was relieved to see her father and Monty, she knows that they weren’t really back. They were her. Her sense of safety, her sense of self-preservation. But Monty disappeared as soon as she figured out the lights, and then Josephine had wrestled her back to her side of the door, and she’s alone. Hoping, hoping, hoping, that someone saw her message, that it wasn’t a crapshoot, that they’d care she was still in here.

And she just has to wait.

But of course, this her mind, her own subconscious. And it turns out, she should be careful what she wishes for.

_In the darkness I will meet my creators_

_and they will all agree that I’m a suffocator_

**i.** **Wells**

_And the whole of him cascades through my hands_

_Making a castle on the floor_

_Then I’m alone again_

She blames the boredom. Sitting on her bed, drawing, only distracts her for so long. She’s too nervous. Waiting for a response, a sign, anything – that can tell her she succeeded. But she can’t send out another message when Josephine’s on her guard.

So she walks. It’s something she’s kind of missed, funnily enough. When it was just her and Madi, down in Eden, she took it for granted. How easy it was to stroll through the trees, enjoying the air and the forest and the feel of her body moving. Before that, they had to watch for grounders in the trees, or Mountain Men in their hazmat suits, or radiation-mutated gorillas. But she hasn’t gone on a nice, normal walk since the day the prison ship landed. And what better place to do it, then her memories?

This time, she isn’t being chased by a sociopathic body-snatcher. She isn’t trying to lead Josephine through the worst ordeals she’s survived, because god-knows that princess couldn’t handle them.

No, on her walk through her mind, Clarke thinks about the words said to her a few days ago. By a man who later killed her, but hey. She’s trying to forgive him. Kind of.

_Have you ever known peace, Clarke?_

The answer was no, not really. But it also wasn’t that clear-cut.

From the moment they landed on Earth, Clarke was waiting. Waiting for supplies from Mount Weather, waiting on the Ark to come down and save them, waiting on the Grounders to attack the camp, waiting on the Mountain Men to kill her friends, waiting on someone to find her as Wanheda, waiting on an AI to brainwash her, waiting on a wave of radiation to burn them all. And even when her and Madi’s six years of bliss had been free of violence and murder, she had still been looking up at the stars. Waiting.

But before that, there was the Ark. Before that, she was just a girl, naïve, stubborn, and yes, maybe a little uptight. And maybe the space station wasn’t peace, not really. But it wasn’t war, and she hadn’t feared for her life. And she’d never, ever been alone.

It’s those thoughts that shape the landscape around her. The forest and old huts of Eden transform as she steps through a door, and suddenly she’s in a hallway. Metal, dark, and dank. Familiar.

Clarke looks down at her clothes. A pink, cotton top. Her hair braided down her shoulder. And she realises where she is when she steps through to the Ark rec room, and he’s waiting for her, a knowing smile on his face.

She sits down across from him, shakily. The chess set lies between them, and it’s funny to think she’s probably better than him now, after all these years. Not because she’s practiced, but because strategy and survival have become second nature.

‘So,’ Wells says. ‘You finally conjured me up, huh?’

Clarke smiles down at her hands. ‘Trust you to not lie to me about being real.’

‘When would I ever lie to you?’ He tilts a corner of his mouth up, and Clarke misses him.

‘I hate that we had no time. I hate that you didn’t get to see the beauty of Earth. I’m sorry Wells,’ she can’t keep the words from spilling. All these years, she’s tried to bury it down. She had to move on, for the good of the delinquents, for the good of everyone. She couldn’t afford to lose it over one death, not when there were so many other lives out there. Tears swell against her will, but somehow it’s easier to cry, in front of him, as her sixteen-year-old self. Wells had seen much worse, growing up with her. And besides. It’s not actually him.

‘Didn’t I tell you it was already forgiven?’ Wells reaches across the table and grasps her hands. It’s strange, because her hands in her memories are soft. No calluses, no bites, cuts, stings. And his are exactly as she remembers. Warm and comforting around her own, tightening when he can see her shaking.

‘I know,’ she sniffs, trying to blink the moisture away. ‘But it’s hard. Why is it that I hate myself more for wasting the time we had together hating you, when I’ve…I’ve murdered children, Wells. God, I can’t believe myself.’

Her friend rolls his eyes, and yeah, she’s missed that too. ‘I don’t think things you regret have to go on a hierarchy, Clarke. Of course you’re sad that I died _way_ too young. Look at me. I had so much to live for.’

Clarke snorts. She’s kind of thankful for the mindspace in a way. She’d never be able to consciously summon his stupid sense of humour like this.

He looks at her for a minute, then down at the chessboard, and then sighs. ‘Come on. We can’t sit here all day.’

‘You just know that I’d beat you now.’ But she rises with him and grasps his hand again. She doesn’t think that novelty will wear off.

Wells makes a face. ‘Keep telling yourself that, Griffin.’ He leads her through the rec room to doors on the other side. It’s eerie. Her memory only partially fills in the other voices and faces in the room. They’re blurry and indistinct, and it reminds her that none of it is real. Her best friend is dead, one hundred and thirty years ago, on a distant and ruined planet.

But he’s also right in front of her.

He pulls her through, and she’s suddenly slammed into a seat. Restraints pull back on her chest, and it’s the dropship, and they’re hurtling. The ship shakes, and she has to remind herself it’s not real again. She turns to Wells, beside her, just like it happened.

‘I really handed it to you, didn’t I?’ She says. He shakes his head, not seeming to mind the clanging of metal and screams around him.

‘You were meant to, remember? I couldn’t let you hate your mom. And you’d been by yourself for a year. You were bound to take the crazy out on someone.’

Clarke smiles faintly. It was so Wells. To excuse the people he cared about for their wrongs. She’d call it a flaw, but. It just made him kind.

She leans back, sort of enjoying the adrenaline of the fall, now she knew how it ended. Was this what rollercoasters were like, back before the bombs?

There’s silence for a bit, or as silent as it can be, with the indistinct voice of Wells’ father on the telescreen, the faces of the delinquents around her faded and not quite right. She hates that she’s forgotten some of their names.

‘Why are we here, Wells? Why am I seeing you? Sure, you’re comforting, I guess-’

Wells snorts.

‘But I just wanted to take a walk. Why are we here? Back where it all began?’

He doesn’t answer, for a second. The dropship is landing, and just as Clarke braces for the impact she knows is coming, she blinks. She’s standing in front of Wells, just as he’s finished filling Atom’s grave. Their skin is dirtied from the ground, and she feels her long hair tickling her shoulders, notices the slight marks on Wells’ wrist from the missing wristband.

‘You’re lonely.’

‘Well duh,’ Clarke frowns. ‘It’s literally my own mind. I know I sort of,’ she sighs. ‘Wished it wasn’t like that. But this isn’t actually a fix. You’re still just me. I’m still alone.’

Wells nods. ‘Yeah, that might be true. But you can’t actually fix that with physicality. Weren’t you just as alone, these past weeks? Even though you had Madi, your Mom, Bellamy, by your side, in an entire compound of people. Raven, Murphy, Emori – they’re all still around. But you were still lonely.’

Clarke swallows. ‘Because they hate me.’

He shrugs. ‘Maybe. But I’m just saying. Maybe your loneliness isn’t from being alone. You just need some support.’

‘And that’s you?’

‘Hey, if support can’t come from your long-dead best friend who was murdered by a twelve-year-old, who can it come from?’

‘Well, when you put it that way.’ And when he offers, she steps into his warmth. It’s a distant memory by now, him hugging her after her tearful apology. She still can’t believe he did it sometimes. That he sacrificed all those days, just so she wouldn’t hate her only family. She wishes that he hadn’t done it, because he _was_ her family. And he died too.

Whatever she remembers of this long ago embrace, it’s everything. Clarke doesn’t get enough hugs these days. She loves Madi’s clingy, leap-into-her-arms hugs, but there’s just something about big arms and someone who’s taller than her that makes it…nice.

It was just a few days ago, that Bellamy had hugged her. But it hadn’t been quite as good as it was in their orange jumpsuits, or on the bench in the Eligius cell. There was still so much they needed to talk about. And now. Now it was too late.

Ice rushes through her veins, and she clutches Wells even tighter.

‘Why am I always too late,’ she says into his chest. ‘Why does something always fuck me over? Why is that something usually me?’

‘Shhh,’ he says. ‘Sometimes. Sometimes the timing won’t work out. Sometimes you’ll lose someone before you want to. That’s usually how it goes, actually,’ he says. ‘What would have happened if Charlotte had never killed me. Would I still be alive?’

The question freezes Clarke to her core. She steps back and looks at the face of her best friend. Her good, kind, fair best friend.

The Earth would have eaten him alive.

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. He’s her.

‘Sometimes we can’t control if we’re too late.’ He looks over his shoulder, and it’s only now that Clarke realises they’re not quite in the right bit of forest. It’s too clear. She can see the darkness of the night sky behind him.

Wells looks back at her, smiling sadly. ‘But that’s the way it is.’

_I’ve tried to escape but keep sinking_

**ii.** **Charlotte**

_From the beginning_

_Small lifeforms_

_They can kill without warning_

Clarke didn’t witness Wells’ death. No one did, that was kind of the point. They’d blamed it on grounders, the easy decision. Until suddenly it wasn’t, and she fucked up. Real bad.

She pushes away the memory of Bellamy’s face as he yells at her. _This is on you, Princess. You should have kept your mouth shut._ John Murphy is swinging from a rope behind him, and Clarke shakes her head. She can’t afford this right now. She focuses back on Wells. Because suddenly she recognises this clearing.

Wells turns around and puts his hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. She’s even younger than Clarke remembers. She’s _Madi’s_ age. A child. Sent down to die by adults who couldn’t come up with anything better. Maybe that’s why they’d fucked up for so many months. They’d been raised by monsters, just like the grounders.

Charlotte blinks at her, and Clarke can barely look at her. They’re standing on the ravine edge, where she jumped. Where she and Bellamy had knelt, screaming after her, because they’d failed her.

Clarke doesn’t want to fail Madi like that.

And she still hasn’t said anything, the little girl that killed Wells.

‘You know, I don’t even know how she killed you? I know you were stabbed by a knife. Why do I find it hard to imagine a twelve-year-old doing that?’

Charlotte shrugs, looking down. ‘I was just slaying my demons. That’s what you all learnt to do, after I died. I wasn’t that different.’

Clarke swallows as Wells walks back towards her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he passes. ‘I think I’ll leave you two to talk.’

There’s silence again. ‘I don’t know how to talk to you,’ Clarke says. ‘You killed my best friend.’

Charlotte presses her lips together. ‘That’s true. In more ways than one. You could have saved him, if you’d said the right thing to me. You could have saved me, if you hadn’t been so useless.’

Great. So this was her self-hatred. In the form of a little girl. How fitting. Charlotte turns back around to the cliff. ‘You know, if you jumped with me, they could get peace. Bellamy, Madi, your mom.’

‘Please don’t jump. I don’t want to watch it. You know how much you remind me of Madi. I wanted to do better with her. Teach her to be good.’ Clarke hates that she sounds so desperate. Charlotte just sighs.

‘Fine, have it your way.’ She turns back around and shoves past Clarke, walking back into the woods. ‘But you’re being weak.’

Following her, Clarke didn’t know she remembered so much about the terrain, but her feet find the path by themselves, stepping over roots and scaling rocks like Earth had never changed. They’ve done this before, her and Charlotte, running through the forest. But they had someone with them, and she’s not quite ready for that encounter.

She stops for a moment and closes her eyes. A hand snakes into hers and Clarke pulls away, like she’s burnt. Charlotte just looks up at her with dull eyes. ‘I was trying to find comfort, when I did that. Isn’t that something you can relate to? Trying to connect with someone, even if you’d wronged them?’

It’s hard to resist the urge to scream at her, like she did the first time. They’d been saving Charlotte from Murphy’s wrath, but it hadn’t meant Clarke could forgive her. Not the Clarke she was back then, anyway.

‘You killed Wells.’

‘I was just a little girl. You’re a grown woman. And you’ve murdered in colder blood than me.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘I’ve killed for a lot of reasons. But none of them were in cold blood.’ She looks at Charlotte and sighs. ‘I guess that’s true for you too though.’

She gives no answer, and they continue back to the dropship. It’s empty, the camp. The fence is halfway finished, tents and mud and rubbish litter the landscape. It was home. But none of the delinquents are there. They’re all dead now. All but four, Clarke realises. It’s pretty twisted that one of them is Murphy, and he’s one of the least blood-soaked.

Charlotte leads her to the root of a tree, and lies down, and Clarke can’t believe she forgot. This is where she first met the girl. Late at night, one of the first ones on earth, she’d heard screams and found the girl waking from a nightmare.

She rustles her shoulder, and Charlotte turns to look at her in the darkness.

‘You told me then that the ground was our second chance. That the pain from the Ark, we could move past it.’ She sits up and holds her knees to her chest. ‘Do you still believe that? That the new planet is our third chance?’

‘I didn’t even know I remembered this conversation,’ Clarke sighs. She sits down next to her. ‘It wouldn’t be our third chance. I don’t even know how many we’ve had. And it’s harder than I thought, to move past the pain.’ She turns her head, resting it on her knees. ‘You had nightmares.’

‘My parents. They were floated.’

‘I didn’t have nightmares back when I talked to you,’ says Clarke. ‘But I do now. I don’t know what advice I’d give you now. It obviously wasn’t good enough then. But now I know how hard they are to get rid of.’

‘What advice would you give Madi?’

Clarke swallows. ‘She’s different. I raised her.’

‘You weren’t as new to raising a kid as you thought.’

‘Do you mean you?’ Clarke shakes her head. ‘I talked to you like, twice. I was seventeen. Naïve.’

‘That doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. It doesn’t mean you didn’t think about me, when you looked at Madi.’

Madi. Clarke wants to see her so bad. Wants to hold her again. ‘Yeah. You’re right about that.’ She sighs. ‘Why am I talking to you anyway? I thought this whole thing was about my loneliness or something.’

Charlotte shrugs. ‘Well I do remind you of someone still alive, who still loves you.’

Clarke glares off into the distance. ‘There’s a reason I’m not talking to her right now though.’

Charlotte hums, leaning into Clarke’s shoulder. The gesture is familiar, but it’s the wrong girl.

‘Maybe this is about choices.’

‘Choices?’

A shrug. ‘You’re thinking about how your choices have affected people. Affected everything.’

‘I don’t think things could have gone that differently, if we’d saved you. You would have died eventually.’ She looks at the empty camp. ‘They all did.’

‘But more than just about me. Every choice you made on the ground led you here. Do you regret any of it? Are you happy?’

Clarke can’t stop the tears that film up her eyes. She wrestles them away with her wrist. It still has the metal device clamped around it. Before she tore it off to punish her mother.

‘Am I happy? What a question.’

Charlotte just waits.

‘I don’t know. I have a daughter. I have my mom, funnily enough.’ She shakes the wristband. ‘I have friends. One friend. Bellamy. If he really forgave me.’

‘Bellamy,’ muses Charlotte. ‘He told you back then not to confront the camp. To let them think the grounders killed Wells.’ She looks back up at Clarke. ‘You didn’t listen.’

‘He’s not right about everything.’ The unimpressed look she receives is so like Madi it stabs her in the heart. It probably is Madi’s expression. She’s projecting it. ‘But yes, he was right about that. He knew.’

‘And was he right about the flame in Madi’s head?’

Clarke’s throat closes up.

‘I don’t want to talk about Bellamy.’

Charlotte just shrugs again and rests her head back down on Clarke’s shoulder. They sit, looking up at the stars. Clarke’s going to miss them. The ones she could see from Earth. Her father had taught them to her, when she was young. She had taught Madi, too. And now they were literal lightyears away.

‘Are you bored?’

‘What?’ Clarke startles, but it’s too late. They’re running through the forest again. Finn is in the distance, leading them with sure feet.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You must have been,’ Charlotte says, and they keep running. ‘You’ve done a lot of this. Aren’t you tired of it? Running?’

‘It’s not my fault,’ Clarke huffs, as they climb over fallen logs. ‘Trust my own mind to make everything more difficult.’ She helps Charlotte over a particularly large trunk. ‘Things just keep chasing me.’

‘Or you’re always running away from a bad decision. No good choices, and then you run. Isn’t that how it goes?’

Clarke shakes her head and keeps powering forward, muscles screaming with pain. ‘I’m always running away from something trying to kill me. No good choices, and then I survive. That’s how it goes.’

She senses when Charlotte’s about to reply, wonders what her own brain will come up with in response. But it doesn’t come.

There’s a sharp pain on the edge of her skull, and she falls.

_Skull caged like a prison_

**iii. Anya**

_We are the reckless, we are the wild youth_

_Chasing visions of our futures_

_One day we’ll reveal the truth_

_That one will die before she gets there_

She blinks blearily, lying on her back. There’s a face, swimming above her, but it’s certainly not Charlotte. Too large. Dark eye make-up. Honey-coloured hair. A grounder.

Clarke closes her eyes again, and the earth seems to shift under her. Suddenly she’s filthy, covered in dirt, mud, blood. She can feel it on her face, in her mouth, all over her skin. Opening her eyes, the face is still above her. But there’s no make-up anymore, and they’re just as mud-soaked.

Anya.

Her stomach drops. Wonderful. Another death she’s suppressed, trying to forget so the guilt didn’t drown her.

‘Oh great, you’re finally awake.’ Anya hauls her up. Clarke’s hands are tied in front of her, and the grounder holds the rope. ‘Didn’t think you’d see me, did you?’

Clarke just shrugs. ‘There are other people I thought I would face.’

Anya glares. ‘Don’t you remember this was your fault too? You know, if you hadn’t freed me when you did, I probably would have been freed when the Commander made her deal.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘Like I knew that. I couldn’t leave you. You were my friend.’

‘Friend?’ Anya scoffs, and hauls Clarke forward. They creep through the undergrowth. Clarke doesn’t know why she still tries to be quiet. It’s not like the Mountain Men will catch them. But she also doesn’t want to piss Anya off. Even as a memory, she’s intimidating. ‘We were never friends. The only reason I was in that hell was because you burnt my warriors alive. We were trying to murder each other.’

She has to admit, Anya has a point. Clarke really had some messed up relationships, back on Earth. ‘Maybe that’s how I show friendship,’ she mutters under her breath. Anya doesn’t reply, but Clarke could swear she sees the ghost of a smile.

They trek for minutes in silence. Clarke doesn’t really know what to say. She didn’t even know Anya that well. She has no idea what her subconscious has planned.

After half an hour, Clarke’s skin is itching under all the mud. She tugs on the rope. ‘Any chance we can clean ourselves up? Surely we don’t have to look like this if it isn’t real.’

Anya glares at her. ‘Sure,’ she snaps, and drags Clarke into a cave. A roar fills her ears. Water. Rushing water. They stumble forwards, and Clarke isn’t restrained anymore. She still follows Anya, running ahead, and then there’s blinding light, and a waterfall. The dam.

They stop at the edge and Anya turns to her. There’s no adrenaline this time. Clarke can hear the shouts of the mountain men behind them, but she knows they won’t reach them. Not now.

‘Why did you really save me,’ Anya asks. ‘You could have found your way out of the mountain yourself, eventually. Even if the Reapers were about to attack, you’re resourceful. You always survive. So why me? Was it because I was a familiar face, or something else?’

Clarke doesn’t answer. She has a feeling Anya (herself) will for her.

‘I’ll tell you why,’ Anya snarls. Her face turns mean. ‘You knew I was an advantage. You’re manipulative. You use people for a purpose.’ She stares back out at the open water. ‘You’re not that different to Josephine after all.’

Clarke swallows. She knows the next step. May as well get it over with, she thinks, and steps forward. Poises to jump. She looks back at Anya and shakes her head. ‘Maybe I am like Josephine. But I was just trying to be the good guy.’ And she leaps.

She knows it’s her mindspace, and it’s not real, but it’s still terrifying, the second time around. She hates the feeling of falling, the way her stomach leaps to her throat and her heart hammers in double time.

Her feet break the surface of the water, and she feels herself submerge in slow motion. She didn’t remember this happening, last time. She’s pretty sure she passed out in the water. She almost does again.

But instead, when Clarke opens her eyes, she’s standing over a body on a bench. A dying girl, choking on her own blood.

Tris. She senses, rather than sees, the presence of Finn behind her. But she ignores him for now. Anya is on the other side of the table, staring at her carefully.

‘You used me as an advantage too,’ Clarke says, her hand gripping the knife she had used to pierce Tris’s lung.

‘You were just a prisoner of war.’

‘A war we didn’t mean to start. A war we tried to end.’ Clarke presses a hand to her temple. ‘The Commander saw my side, when we met.’

Anya gives her a piercing look. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘She was your second. That’s what you said, right.’ Clarke looks up at Anya. ‘Why did Lexa never talk about you more?’

The grounder blinks, looking at Clarke like she’s a moron. ‘Why would she?’

Why would she indeed. She stares down at Tris, dying on the table, wound in her belly. It reminds her too much of a candlelit room and a bed and another dying girl. This time, she wills the environment to change around her, and they’re on the bridge.

Clarke’s holding her hand out, awkward. She puts it away, fiddling with the bag strap on her shoulder.

‘You always seem to get off to a “rough start”,’ Anya quotes her, mocking. ‘With every group. You start wars you don’t know how to end. So you commit genocide. You’ll never do better.’

It stings, because she’s right. They’ve warred with everyone. Trikru, Mount Weather, Azgeda, Eligius. Now Sanctum, if Clarke gets her way. If she lives. If Bellamy forfeits a peace deal just because she’s still alive.

‘It always comes down to war with you people,’ Anya says, dismissive. ‘The Sky people. You’re all murderers. Why do you deserve to try again?’

‘Because I want to try harder,’ Clarke pleads. ‘I can get it right.’

‘It’s not just you though. It’s the people around you. You wanted a peace deal with me, but you couldn’t guarantee your people would follow through.’ She nods down to behind Clarke, and she sees them. Bellamy with his rifle, Raven in her red jacket. Jasper. ‘He shot first. You can never get alliances, when your people force you to make the hard decisions. People die when you’re in charge.’

Clarke turns back around, trying not to let tears escape again. She raises her head. ‘I bear it. I choose to bear it. Even if they hate me,’ she grimaces. She looks over her other shoulder. Finn stands there, puppy dog eyes staring her down. ‘Even if they love me. I don’t always have the best intentions. But pure intentions get you killed.’

When she turns back around to Anya, it’s night again. The lights of Camp Jaha shine through the trees, and Anya is looking at her with some amount of respect. She hadn’t noticed that the first time around. But winning their fight at the burnt-out camp had gained Anya’s favour. That was the way their people were.

She cuts through the restraints that are around Anya’s wrists. It feels like she’s letting go of something heavy.

‘I can’t control what my people do. I just have to try and survive.’

Anya nods, accepting it, before she walks away. Clarke watches, helpless, as the bullet whisks through the air and plunges into the grounder’s back. She runs, kneels over Anya, but not trying to attend the wound this time. The night is quiet. The soldiers from Camp Jaha don’t come.

‘Yu gonplei ste odon.’

She stands, and stumbles back into the forest. ‘Ai gonplei nou ste odon.’

_I’m all ready for healing_

**iv. Finn**

_And I’m scared I’ll forget him_

_I’m still haunted by those open wounds_

Clarke ignores the presence of Octavia and Bellamy by her side as they fly through the forest. Gunshots echo in the distance. She knows who she’s about to face, and this isn’t about them.

She’s tried not to think about this day. For a long time, she wanted to remember the best things about him. But it’s a part of their history. It’s why he died. The gunfire sprays, and Clarke can’t breathe, as she staggers towards him. Spacewalker, fun-loving Finn. He’d changed so much.

He locks eyes with her, steps forward.

‘I found you,’ he breathes.

Clarke shakes her head, horrified. She still is. She’s killed hundreds more than him, by now. In crueller ways. But these were innocents. And he let the war get to him. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, he’s still there. But he’s horizontal, wearing a beanie, floating.

They’re back on the dropship. Spacewalker. It’s funny. Raven had told her the real story, later. Finn had taken the blame for her. They were family. It made his choice to pursue Clarke on the ground even worse. It made his nickname ironic. He only became a spacewalker just before they hit the ground, and his doom.

She feels sick, watching him float in front of her. His eyes are understanding. He knows why she’s upset.

‘Why did you have to be like this,’ she says, pained. She angles her head up to look up at the stars, not the metal dropship roof. Finn’s warm beside her. She knows they’re about to see Raven’s pod appear. They’d almost wished on it, like it was a shooting star.

‘I’m sorry, Princess.’

‘I still can’t hate you. You broke my heart, but I still can’t hate you. You massacred a village, but I still can’t hate you? Why is that?’

Finn is quiet. He doesn’t attempt to put his arm around her, like he did back then. She doesn’t want that from him. ‘I guess you knew it was the earth that made me what I was. And you still remembered me being all idealistic. Becoming friends with Lincoln, trying to make peace.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘Bellamy told me you killed in cold blood. When I was gone. You shot the grounder you interrogated about where I was.’ She turns to him. ‘How? How did you get to that point? Why did you go to _those_ lengths?’

‘Aren’t you hoping he will? Bellamy?’ The bitter note in Finn’s voice when he says that name seems stark now. Clarke just shakes her head, and moves to get up, shoulder past him. But it knocks him down, and she’s hovering over his body. Her hands are sanitized by moonshine and she’s holding them up, unwilling to touch anything. The storm rages outside. Her mom’s voice crackles through the radio, intelligible.

‘You went to a lot of lengths to save me,’ Finn groans, from the table. He looks up at the ceiling, and Clarke hears the yelling. The sound of a whip against flesh. ‘And in the end, you failed. Maybe he will too.’

Clarke’s hands shake. ‘You don’t know him. You don’t know us. He’ll do the right thing.’

Finn sighs, lifting a hand to lightly touch the skin around his wound. ‘I do know you.’ He grips the ornate handle of the knife. ‘Isn’t this a parallel? You. Me. A knife.’ He chuckles weakly. ‘Imminent death.’

She brushes his hand away and grips the knife herself. Three millimetres. That was all that had been in between Finn and death, that moment. Not that it made a difference, in the end.

‘You hurt Raven, when you decided you were in love with me,’ she says, instead of a thousand other things.

‘You hurt Raven when you killed me on that post. You hurt Raven when you let Shaw get tortured.’ Thunder shakes the dropship, but this time she doesn’t let herself get flung away, doesn’t let him roll off the table. She keeps them steady.

‘Princess, you did what you had to do. We got hurt. But you had good intentions.’

Clarke squeezes her eyelids together. She’s still holding onto the knife, but he’s vertical now, and it’s buried in his stomach.

‘You always had good intentions,’ she says between shaking sobs. She almost can’t get the words out. ‘And you fucked up the most.’

Finn laughs softly. ‘Did I fuck up though? I died for a cause. I was a sacrifice, basically.’

‘A cause that got destroyed anyway. She betrayed me. The alliance fell.’

‘You can’t always control the way things play out, Princess. You can only make a decision in the moment.’ He looks down at his stomach. ‘And you did good.’

She doesn’t kiss him. But she feels his warmth ebb away all the same. ‘I had to give you mercy,’ Clarke shudders. ‘But I haven’t shown mercy to so many others. I was wrong before. I have killed in cold blood. Because of you. Because of Madi. Because they were hurting people I loved.’ She takes a breath. ‘They deserved better. They deserved mercy, like you.’

Finn shakes his head, takes his final few breaths. ‘Mercy is given, not earned.’ He slumps forward, but Clarke hears his last words anyway.

‘Thanks, princess.’

_My mind’s lost with nightmares streaming_

**v. Lexa**

_Leave me on the tracks_

_To wait until the morning train arrives_

_Don’t you dare look back_

_Walk away, catch up with the sunrise_

She backs slowly away from the post, knife dripping. Raven’s screams echo in the distance, but when she looks, no one is there.

Actually, now she looks up, there’s no audience at all. The grounders hungering for Finn’s suffering have disappeared. The distant audience of Arcadia has vanished into the darkness. But when she turns, Lexa still stands behind her, draped in her red sash, eyes glaring out from beneath the dark kohl.

Clarke swallows. It’s time to face her.

She walks towards the Commander, and suddenly she pitches forward, and her arms are being held back. Lexa walks towards her, and the warpaint vanishes. She lifts the gag out of Clarke’s mouth, and winces, bracing.

‘I won’t spit on you this time,’ Clarke mutters. She’s supposed to be angry, feral, wild right now. She’s pretty sure she called Lexa a bitch and threatened to kill her. Somehow, those words feel stale now.

Lexa nods. ‘That would be appreciated.’

Clarke shakes her arms, trying to rid herself of the bodyguards. They don’t budge. She sighs.

‘I was so angry at you.’

‘I know,’ Lexa says. She drops her eyes down. There’s shame there. Regret. ‘But is there not a thin line between love and hate? You kissed me only a few weeks after you killed your boyfriend, and you blamed me for his death, at least partially.’

Clarke snarls, and leaps forward. Her hand grips the knife Roan gave her, and she holds it, hand trembling, to Lexa’s throat. She remembers this moment so clearly. She wishes she didn’t.

‘He wasn’t my boyfriend. And you kissed me.’

Lexa shrugs. She doesn’t blink at the blade to her throat. Clarke could swear she leans into it, just a little. Her eyes bore into Clarke’s. ‘What does it matter in the end?’

Clarke can hardly breathe, when Lexa stares at her like that. She doesn’t notice her old lover’s hand come up to cup her cheek until the last second, but she leans in automatically when Lexa kisses her.

But her heart’s burning, and she doesn’t feel the fluttering in her stomach anymore. Even though she’d rejected Lexa back then, this first time, because there’d been a war brewing, and she’d just lost Finn, there was a reason she’d said not _yet_. But it’s not like kissing a lost love. She’s kissing a dead girl, and she loves someone else.

Clarke breaks it off, pulling back. The light that shone through the tent that day dims to candlelight. Lexa kneels before her, looking up with that dark, intense stare. Clarke’s breath becomes shorter, but she realises, a moment later, it’s because she’s wearing that damn tight dress. Wanheda. What a joke.

Lexa isn’t laughing though. She stares up at Clarke with a reverence that makes Clarke sick to her stomach now. It reminds her of the Primes, of worshipping code on a chip.

‘Even in the midst of it,’ she whispers down to Lexa. ‘It felt like another life. I was so separate from everyone, tucked away in this tower with you. You...’ she pauses, looks away. Sighs. ‘We were in the centre of everything, but you still felt like an escape. From them.’

There’s a pause, like Lexa is digesting what she’s saying. She cocks her head slightly, and the corners of her mouth lift, just a little bit.

‘I guess I was a pretty individual tragedy,’ she says. ‘Only yours.’

Clarke doesn’t know why that stings, but it does. It’s true. All the others she’s lost, all of _her_ people – someone else always mourned with her. Thelonious. Bellamy. Raven. Monty. But no one else had cared about Lexa. Even Octavia hadn’t cared for the Commander, and she had basically become grounder.

Lexa extends her hand, like an offering. Clarke takes it without thinking, and they sink down onto a bed. The tower in Polis. Lexa’s war regalia is gone, and she looks soft, warm. Clarke’s wrapping a soft bandage around the sword slice on her hand.

‘You did learn something from me, in the end,’ Lexa says softly. Like an apology.

Clarke nods. ‘Life’s not just about survival.’ She finishes with the dressing and looks up to meet Lexa’s eyes. ‘We learned that from each other.’

Her companion nods, approving. ‘I am glad you remember this, Clarke.’ She wraps her injured hand around Clarke’s and brings her other hand to rest on top of them. ‘I want you to keep remembering it. Monty was right. Survival is important. But so is making life worth it, for us, and the people around us.’

Clarke swallows, retracts her hand. ‘So she’s right then.’

Lexa frowns. ‘Who?’

‘Josephine.’ Clarke stands. ‘I shouldn’t have fought back. Bellamy should make the peace deal. Surviving isn’t worth it.’

There’s a choking sound, and when Clarke looks back, her breath leaves her. Lexa’s lying back on the bed, blood running from her mouth. The wound in her stomach seems even bigger, more lethal, this time around. Clarke runs to her. No. She doesn’t want to see this. Not again.

‘No, no, no,’ she whispers. The tears drop freely. She doesn’t even try to stop them.

‘No yourself,’ Lexa coughs. ‘That was not the lesson. The lesson is one you must teach them, these Primes.’

‘Teach them what?’ Clarke chokes. Why the hell is her brain putting her through this?

Lexa clasps her hand again. ‘Survival is not worth it, not if you have corrupted yourself beyond humanity.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘But haven’t I? How many mistakes have I made? How many people have I killed?’

‘How many have I killed, Clarke? Did you want me to die?’

She turns away. She can’t look at this right now. She doesn’t want to see Lexa die. Her throat is closed like a vice; her hands are trembling. More than anything, this is reminding her of Madi’s fate. Commanders die, and not naturally. Clarke closes her eyes, doubling over with sobs. She’s kept this down for so long. She doesn’t want to face it. Not now. Not ever.

It feels like an age, but when she opens her eyes again, she’s cold. It’s dark, and she’s in front of a large, impenetrable door. Mount Weather.

She turns, and Lexa is looking at her. Sadness lines her face, but it’s still determined. This won’t happen differently, even in her memories.

‘No,’ Clarke whispers. ‘I never wanted you to die.’

‘Not even when you screamed that you’d kill me? Not even when you held a knife to my throat?’ Lexa’s voice is stiff. Cold.

Clarke shakes her head, only slightly, but enough. ‘Not even then.’

Lexa doesn’t look impressed. ‘I’m about to leave you, force you to commit genocide. You burnt three hundred people in this mountain. Allies, friends. A painful death. Not deserved.’

When Clarke stares into her face, the face that betrayed her, the face she loved, she doesn’t see it. The regret that Madi had said the Commander had felt. Maybe it came later. Maybe Madi was lying.

Lexa looks up at the sky. ‘You do not like leaving people behind, Clarke Griffin. In life or death.’

And it’s the strangest thing. Clarke feels herself being tugged. Like someone’s bound her hands and wants her to stumble forwards. But she looks down, and her wrists are free.

‘They do not like leaving you behind, either.’ Clarke looks up, and Lexa meets her stare. There’s a flicker behind the eyes that she recognises. A glimmer of fondness. After everything, she doesn’t doubt that Lexa loved her.

Clarke can barely speak, but she manages to get the words out. ‘Do you want me to be loved again?’

Lexa’s head reels back sharply. The Lexa she knew at Polis shines out from underneath the warpaint. ‘Of course, Clarke,’ she breathes. ‘Of course. You’re special. I want you to be loved. I want you to love again. Blood must not have blood, and you cannot break the cycle without moving on from the past. It will only pull you back.’ She looks to the ground, and then back up. This time, she’s smiling, genuine. ‘Love is not weakness. You taught me that.’

Clarke’s breath nearly leaves her again, but she inhales deeply, ignoring her panic. The cold air feels painful on her lungs.

‘Aren’t I dwelling on the past now?’ she manages to ask, after a few moments.

Lexa pauses, considers. ‘Well, we have to have some exceptions.’ And she turns to leave.

The tears come again, all at once. She feels them freeze on her cheeks, feels the sobs wrack her chest. It was six years ago, and she doesn’t love Lexa like she did. She moved on, in most ways. But.

‘I don’t want you to leave me again,’ she cries. Clarke feels pathetic, but it’s true. It will be the fourth time. It seems excessive to her. That she has to watch Lexa betray her, then die on her, then disappear in a simulated reality. And now exit in her memories too.

Lexa turns back around, and the love has been shorn from her face. She’s all steel, all ice, all Commander. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, in the same tone she did on that cold night all those years ago. ‘But you can’t stay here forever. You’ll regret it.’ She turns. ‘Your people need you.’

And she walks away.

_Break me out of this shell-like case I’m in_

**vi. Jasper**

_Setting fire to our insides for fun,_

_to distract our hearts from ever missing them_

_But I’m forever missing her_

_And you caused it_

When she stops crying, it’s like a tap has turned off. No more tears, no more shuddering. She feels stiff, which is just unfair, given this isn’t even her physical body, just a manifestation. But she guesses the mind is a powerful thing. It must be, to be putting her through this.

She looks back up at the steel door. There was only one thing for it. It takes all the strength she possesses, but she grips the iron wheel and grinds it open. Breaching the radiation won’t matter, if they’re about to die in an hour anyway. That, and it’s just a memory.

When she steps through, Jasper is waiting for her. She should have guessed. They’ve all been close to her, these people she’s facing. And while she wasn’t there for Jasper’s death, for his decision, it still pierces her heart every day when she thinks about it. When she looks at Jordan. Even now.

This Jasper, however, is happy. His mop is intact, and he looks at her like he used to. Bright, concerned, reverent. With respect.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘We have more chocolate cake to sample!’

‘Chocolate cake?’ Clarke asks, bewildered. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be imprisoned at this point?’ But when she looks down, she’s not in her war gear. The silver gloves, the black garb, is gone. She’s wearing the oh so comfortable outfit Dante had given her. She lifts a hand to her hair. Soft, clean.

‘What, I can’t have fun in death?’ Jasper rolls his eyes. ‘Come on, Miss ‘I can be fun.’ Why you gotta be so serious? This is why I did it by the way,’ he adds. ‘Staying alive was just such a _drag_.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Clarke snaps. ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Jas. You had so much to live for.’

Jasper just shrugs, and gestures for her to follow. She does, reluctantly. She doesn’t want to give up on the time with him, even if it isn’t real. ‘But I did,’ he says. ‘And you can’t change that, Clarke. Besides, what would have happened to us? Died in Praimfaya? Eaten by Bloodreina the cannibal?’ He gasps the last words in a spooky voice, baring his teeth and lifting his arms like he’s about to attack her. Clarke can’t help but smile, even if it’s watery. He was such a goof.

They make their way through the halls and reach the dining room. Clarke swallows thickly. The people here are alive, talking, animated. But she blinks, and can’t help but see them dead, angry and red. Murdered by her.

She feels a hand touch her shoulder. ‘Come on,’ Jasper says. ‘They’re over there.’

Clarke looks over, and Maya waves shyly from a table across the room. Clarke looks back at Jasper to see his lovestruck expression. Moony eyes, a shy smile. Guilt looms in her stomach.

‘Shouldn’t you be more angry at me?’ She says to him, as they pick their way across the room.

‘Who says I wasn’t?’ Jasper laughs. ‘What do you think all that foam was for?’

He collapses back into a chair, but it isn’t a chair anymore, and he isn’t just being his gangly, clumsy self. They’re in the forest, and a spear juts like an angry bolt from his chest.

‘Jasper!’

The boy in question rolls his eyes. ‘Shh, calm down. It’s just a memory, remember?’

Clarke lets out a breath. She still feels like she should be panicking. Her knees shudder as she kneels down next to him. She never saw the spear in him up close, only the wound. Her hand reaches out without her brain’s input, brushes the spear’s handle.

‘You survived so much and I let you down.’

Jasper sticks his tongue out. ‘Drama queen.’ He sits up. It’d be almost comical, if he wasn’t dead for real. The spear dangles, like it’s a prop in a play, not the weapon that began the all the violence on the ground. He reaches up and adjusts the goggles on his head. ‘Thanks for keeping them in your special box, by the way,’ he grins. ‘Didn’t know I was that special. Means a lot.’

Clarke huffs, and it’s half a sob too. ‘I don’t even know.’

‘Know what?’

‘If in the end, you forgave me.’

Jasper’s expression softens. He gets to his feet and walks behind Clarke. When she turns around to follow him, he’s kneeling next to Maya on the floor of Mount Weather. He holds her in his arms, and Maya’s face is melting. Clarke’s already talked to Maya, but she still can’t look away from the result of her actions.

‘I don’t know,’ Jasper whispers. ‘Not even ALIE could take it away completely. I think I’ll always be a little angry at you.’

Clarke nods.

‘And that’s okay, you know. It’s probably healthy. You can’t forgive everyone’s sins, Clarke. Even your own. You did the wrong thing. You can acknowledge that.’

Clarke uses the back of her hand to swipe tears away. She didn’t realise she was still holding this all within her. Something about it is cathartic, but it’s also really fucking hard.

When she’s finished wiping her face, the environment has changed again. They’re in Arcadia, the steel walls arching above them. Jasper’s head is shaved, and his demeanour has changed again. She never fully understood him, after ALIE.

‘We never had a proper conversation, though,’ Clarke says. ‘Why didn’t we just sit down and hash it out? I just never got to. Never got to explain. Even when you ended it on your own terms, I still couldn’t find the time.’ She laughs, surprised, and Jasper raises an eyebrow. Clarke shakes her head. ‘It just seems to be a pattern with me. That’s all.’

Jasper pokes her, and Clarke frowns. He just stares at her, though. ‘So fix it then. Next time you see an opportunity, take it.’

Clarke knows what he’s talking about, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Not yet.

‘Did you really think we were irredeemable?’

Jasper pauses. ‘I’m not Jasper. I don’t know.’ He gives her a sidelong glance. ‘I think it’s up to you.’

Clarke sighs. They turn around and they’re young again, or a few months younger, anyway. They’re in the dropship camp, and he’s standing next to her as they look at Bellamy, lecturing some kids across the way.

‘You know I’m you, right? And when I look like this, I’m still only Jasper.’ He lifts a hand to his chin, strokes it. ‘I can’t tell you if he’s really forgiven you.’

‘I know that,’ Clarke replies, quiet.

‘But I do think that if he got your message, he’ll be running as fast as he can.’

Clarke bites her lip. ‘I hope I’m not just believing that because I want him to.’

Jasper smiles and turns to her. He takes off his goggles, holds them out towards her. His toothy grin gives her more comfort than she ever thought possible. ‘Maybe they’ll help you see better. Or something.’ He pushes her forward. ‘Go talk to him.’

She takes a bracing breath and begins to cross the camp. But as she takes a step, the ground shakes. Clarke looks up, confused. They never had earthquakes. She stumbles forward, and everything becomes blurry. The forest above her is the wrong colour. She can hear voices that are closer than anyone is to her. Bellamy. She has to get to Bellamy.

Clarke walks toward him. Everything becomes slow. She hears them.

_I think that I’m still human_

**\+ vii. Bellamy**

_And he don't recognize me anymore._

_Burned out flames should never re-ignite._

The ground shakes again, and Clarke’s vision goes hazy. She sees a forest, a dark night sky, a bearded face that reaches a hand towards her nose. But just as quickly, it fades again, and she’s sitting back in her Eden cabin.

_It’s getting worse. You have to take me home_

The voice startles her. It echoes around her, like there’s a surround-sound speaker system. And it sounds familiar, but also foreign. It’s her voice, but it’s not. It’s at a higher pitch, and the accent isn’t hers, from the Ark.

_I take you home; you use an EMP and kill Clarke. I told you, I won’t let that happen._

Bellamy.

She wants to cry. Clarke _hears_ him. He’s right there, talking to Josephine. Josephine in her body. He knows. He knows, and he won’t let her die.

Phantom cuffs around her hands pull her, but only slightly. She guesses that Bellamy has her – her body – restrained. The shock of hearing him, like he’s right next to her, keeps her from hearing a couple of lines of conversation. But then Josephine cuts through.

_The people you care about are in trouble. I guess you just care about her more._

Lexa’s words from long ago echo in her mind. _But you worry about him more_. Clarke doesn’t know why they say it that tone. Like it’s a surprise. He’s her person. And she hopes she’s still his.

But Bellamy doesn’t answer, on the outside. She hears shouting, voices, and then everything’s quiet.

*

She tunes back in when she hears Gabriel’s name. Josephine’s been mouthing off to the Children, and Clarke doesn’t really like to focus on it. But now Bellamy’s talking, and she wants to listen. She always wants to listen to Bellamy. She sits up in the bed, clutching her pad, ears cocked.

_What’s the deal with you two?_

His voice is rough. Clarke misses him.

_What? Are we gonna be friends now?_

Josephine was such a bitch. You stole my body, Clarke wants to scream at her. He’ll never be your damn friend.

_Doubtful._

Clarke feels Josephine sigh. All the sensations are getting stronger. She should probably worry – she knows that means her brain is deteriorating. But she’s also just glad she can listen to her body again. She misses it.

_I’ve been in love with Gabriel for two hundred and thirty-six years. The last seventy of which he’s been trying to kill me._

Clarke pauses. Well now. That was interesting.

_You know, relationships._

A sudden idea enters Clarke’s head. She knows it’s crazy, that she’s not in Josephine’s mindspace. But if she can hear them, maybe the walls have become thin enough. She grabs her pencil, and begins tapping on the bedframe.

There’s a silence. And then-

_Morse code, she’s crafty, I’ll give her that._

Damn right she was. Clarke smirks, and concentrates on remembering the right pattern.

_B-O-O-H-O-O._

There’s a sigh.

_That’s harsh._

Clarke snorts. Hardly.

_She can hear us?_

His voice cuts through everything.

‘Yes!’ Clarke screams in response. She stands up on the bed, yells at the top of her lungs. ‘Yes, I can hear you! Bellamy!’

The door to the cabin bursts in, and Josephine storms into the cabin. ‘Keep it down will you? He can’t hear you.’

Clarke doesn’t back away this time though. She doesn’t care anymore. Bellamy’s going to save her, and Josephine’s going down. She just stares the other girl down. No way is she beating her. Not this time.

Her body-snatcher glares at her, and looks up at the roof, speaking in time with Clarke’s body outside.

_It would seem so. Which means the wall separating our minds is almost gone. When that happens, she’ll stroke out, I’ll download, and you can say goodbye to your genocidal friend._

She says the last words with an extra scowl at Clarke.

_Let me talk to her._

Yes! Yes, please let her be able to talk to Bellamy.

Josephine rolls her eyes.

_I’ve got to give over control for that. So no._

_But she can hear me._

‘Yes! Bellamy! Yes!’ Clarke yells. She doesn’t care that Josephine is right there. She just wants to talk to him.

Josephine sighs heavily.

_Yes, she can hear you._

There’s another silence, and Clarke clasps her hands anxiously. The Josephine in front of her looks off into the distance, an odd expression on her face.

_For god’s sake just say what you wanna say._

Another pause.

_I won’t let you die._

Clarke feels the words enter her heart, and nestle there, safe and warm. Of course he won’t. She should never have doubted him. Without warning, tears slide down her cheeks again. She’s done way too much crying lately, but she feels like she’s earned these. She’s dying, after all.

Josephine stares at her, biting her lip. It’s funny – it’s the most emotion Clarke’s seen from the sociopath, apart from when she’d attacked her in the mindspace, rage fuelling her every punch.

She’s not sure what it is, but she feels like, for a moment, Josephine feels something for her. For Bellamy. For them. Clarke hopes it’ll last longer than an itching regret; but she’s not betting anything on it.

*

She’s dozes for a while, as Bellamy and Josephine wait for the Children to get back, leaning back on her pillows. Josephine is quiet, sitting on the other side of the cabin, arms crossed. Bored. They’re all quiet outside. Until.

_What?_

Clarke can’t help but feel her heart lift, whenever she hears his voice. She can’t see him, but she feels his presence all the same. For six years, she imagined hearing his voice again. Now, it brings her the relief she always thought it would.

_My father was a fool for letting you people stay._

Great. Another gospel from Josephine.

_All that time spent building a sanctuary for the human race. And he destroys it, because of the most human thing of all._

Like she knew anything about being human.

_Love._

Clarke’s chest tightens. She sits up again, chin in her hands. Across the room, Josephine leans back in her chair lazily. Looking at Clarke as she mouths the words in unison with Clarke’s body’s voice.

_I mean who can blame him, I am awesome. It’s just. Well, one look at you, he should’ve known how this would end._

Maybe that would be true, Clarke thinks, if this was Bellamy of six years ago. The Bellamy of now is level, steady. He uses his head. Him taking the peace deal showed that. But a little, hopeful voice pipes up to remind her. He’s with you now. He’s saving you.

_I guess I’m just saying all this because I know so much about you now._

Josephine rises, and smirks at Clarke, wandering around the room. She picks up some pages, and Clarke realises what they are. Sketches of him. Memories.

_Oh, you do huh?_

Clarke’s afraid again. There’s an evil look in Josephine’s eye. Eviller than usual, anyway.

_Mmhmm. Take you and Clarke for instance._

Josephine winks at her.

_Now that’s a weird relationship isn’t it._

Tell her about it.

But before she can say anything to Josephine, the girl hauls her up, and is pushing her out the door.

_First you wanna kill her to save your own ass, even though it means the genocide of your own people on the Ark._

Clarke marches up to him without thinking. She’s supposed to be angry at him, but when she gets him to turn around, she’s just relieved to see his face. Even though he looks younger than ever. So much more confident than her Bellamy.

He grabs her wrist, pulls up her sleeve to look at the wristband. But when she meets his eyes, they’re soft, teasing. His smile isn’t sly, it’s amused.

‘I thought you were an ass,’ Clarke tells him.

‘I thought you were a privileged princess. I think we were both wrong, and both right.’

The ground disappears beneath her, and he’s the only thing saving her from certain death. Some things never change. She clings to him.

‘Were you really going to drop me?’ She asks him, breathlessly. ‘I could see it in your eyes. You thought about it.’

He’s alone this time, no Wells, Finn, or Murphy to take the choice away from him. But Bellamy hauls her up just the same.

‘Wasn’t it you who said it? I wasn’t a killer.’ He smiles, but it’s sad. ‘Not then. Why is it that I stopped being an asshole around the time I also became a killer? What does that say about me?’

Clarke holds his hand tightly. ‘Nothing. It means you survived.’

_And then you become besties_

She tugs his hand, and they sit, heavy against the tree. Dax lies dead, not fifteen feet from them. They’re covered in blood. It was still one of the most peaceful nights she remembers.

‘I’m glad you didn’t run away,’ she whispers, wincing when her ribs ache.

Bellamy leans his head back on the bark. ‘I’m glad too. I can’t believe I thought I was a monster, all this time ago. And you were the one reassuring me, about my terrible decisions. When did that change?’

She laughs, and light erupts around them. He has an apple in hand, and she has her hands shoved in her pockets. Unity Day. The mood was light that night, for the last time in a long time. After that, the peace deal with Anya had gone awry. They’d gone to war for real.

‘Why do I want to avoid that question?’ Clarke teases him. But she still thinks about it. ‘I think we’ve both been each other’s moral compass. At various points.’

‘What,’ he grins. ‘Egging each other on to make bad choices?’

‘No,’ Clarke pouts. She sobers for a second. ‘We make each other better, Bellamy. We need each other. How many times have we been separated?’ She sighs, and turns away from him, inching down the slope towards the party. She looks over her shoulder. ‘Things always go wrong, when we’re not together.’

Bellamy makes a face, bites into his apple. ‘I think they go wrong all the time, Princess. With or without us.’

Clarke hums, and steps toward him again. Except now she’s running, so relieved to see him, so knocked back by his presence, she can’t help but leap into his arms.

He clenches his arms around her, nuzzles his nose into her hair. But this time he spins her too, and she knows he’s just a projection, but it makes her giddy. Not the spinning. That Bellamy’s excited to see her too.

‘This is my wishful thinking, isn’t it?’ she mumbles into his shoulder. He strokes the back of her head softly, absentmindedly.

‘Probably.’ Bellamy draws back, to look at her. His dark eyes sweep over her, like he can’t believe she’s really there. She knows the feeling.

When she meets his gaze, they’re no longer in an embrace. They’re side by side, walking in procession. He grips a rifle like it’s a safety blanket. Her eyes dart to the trees, like she’s expecting Finn to appear. Like she hasn’t already murdered him twice.

‘Did you mean it, Clarke?’ Bellamy says, breaking a brief silence. ‘When you said you couldn’t lose me too?’

She thinks back to all the times she’s proven the opposite to him. Closing the dropship door. Sending him into Mount Weather. Leaving him at the gates of Camp Jaha. Refusing to come with him in Polis. Slapping him, leaving him behind to die at the fighting pits.

Despite all of it, despite all she’s shown him, the answer has always been the same. She’s said it to other people, so many times. Refused to take deals, for his safety. Even Lexa had noticed. Clarke needs to say it to his face. More than just telling him he’s family.

‘Yes,’ she whispers.

‘Do you still?’

‘Yes,’ Clarke breathes. ‘I’ll always mean it.’

_Bonding over the actual genocide in Mount Weather_

They keep walking, walking, walking, until they’re in that tiny, horrible room. It looms before them, the worst decision she’s ever had to make. That he helped her make.

Clarke looks up at him. ‘Would you make the same decision now?’

He stares at the lever in front of them, like it’s going to leap up and attack them. In a way, it did, Clarke supposes. It certainly still haunts her nightmares.

He doesn’t answer for a second. But then he looks up at the security screens, showing their people dying. Octavia surrounded, guns at her throat. He grimaces. ‘My sister, my responsibility.’ Bellamy nods, gesturing to the other side of the room. There’s another screen.

Madi’s on it. She’s being strapped down by the mountain men, in their sterile, ghost-like gear. Flailing, screaming. Calling out for Clarke. They start the drill.

She knows it’s not real. It’s a memory, and a false one. But she still can’t let it happen. Clarke rests her hand on the lever.

Bellamy places his over hers. Nods. ‘Our people,’ Clarke says, shakily. ‘Always our excuse.’

_Together._

She sees her out of the corner of her eye. Josephine, lounging in the corner. As they pull the lever, she imitates them, mocking them with smirk and a hand gesture.

Clarke looks away, closing her eyes, pushing out the tears that have again welled up.

When she opens them, it’s bright, too bright. They’re squinting at Camp Jaha, steel surfaces glinting in the sunlight.

Bellamy’s presence is warm beside her. It’s nice, that her brain thinks of the little things like that. He wouldn’t be Bellamy without it.

‘I just realised,’ Clarke says softly. She doesn’t look at him. ‘How many times I’ve left you. I forgot I did it to you here too.’

He shakes his head, turning his head to her. His eyes are warm, understanding. ‘It wasn’t to my death though,’ he teases.

Clarke hugs him. Sometimes it’s harder not to hug Bellamy Blake. She’s often flooded by the urge, and why shouldn’t she? His hug is just as good as she remembers, which she guesses makes a lot of sense. It’s just a cascade of warmth, comfort. Relief.

She reaches up, kisses him on the cheek. But this time, she doesn’t pull away and let him go.

‘You know I want to do more than that, right?’ She whispers it quietly. Nobody can possibly hear it but him.

He leans back, strokes her hair back out of her eyes. They aren’t standing outside anymore. She’s strapped to a pole, tied up, a gag in her mouth.

Bellamy pauses. ‘I do. But you know I’m you. I can’t give you his answer.’ He grins. ‘I’d be biased.’ He fishes the cloth out of her mouth, gentle.

Clarke doesn’t warn him this time. There’s no Roan coming. There’s just silence in the old subway tunnel, as they stare at each other.

‘Wishful thinking again,’ Clarke replies, wistfully. She looks down at his leg, where Roan had stabbed it, the first time. ‘I couldn’t let him kill you. But I’m sorry that you’re still always hurt anyway, because of me.’

Bellamy just sighs. ‘It’s not the physical injuries that hurt, Princess. It’s when you hurt me, and you still leave.’

Clarke nods, hanging her head. More tears leak out.

_You lock her up_

When she lifts her head, she feels long, matted hair drag with it. She’s sitting on an uncomfortable Ark chair. Bellamy is kneeling before her, her hands enclosed in his.

‘I want you to be angrier at me than you are. But I also never want you to be angry at me. How can those things both be true?’

Bellamy does look mad for a second, but it recedes to frustrated, and then just sad.

‘You’re gonna hurt me after this too. But to be fair I locked you up first.’ He brings out the handcuffs, smoothly attaches them to the table. She doesn’t resist this time. ‘But you did shock me. Those things fucking hurt. And then you ran. Leaving me behind.’

‘You were being an idiot,’ Clarke argues, and is relieved to see him smirk. He’s winding her up. ‘But you worked it out in the end, all by yourself. Even though I never asked you about it. Not properly.’

She gets the urge again, to hug him, and memory handcuffs must not work that well, because her arms embrace him easily.

It takes her more than a few seconds to realise they’re cold, slightly damp. A sea breeze is whistling through their hair, and it’s dark. Clarke tucks her chin into his neck.

‘I think this was the only time we talked about it.’ She draws back to look at him. Scars litter his face. If anything, she’s glad she’s never been responsible for those sorts of wounds on Bellamy. ‘And all I did was spout some bullshit about needing each other.’

‘But isn’t it true?’

Doubt creeps in. ‘I don’t know. You have your own family now.’

Bellamy looks down at her. ‘Didn’t you say to me that I’m your family too? That you wouldn’t forget?’

Clarke smiles, letting out a small laugh. ‘That’s not until a hundred and thirty years after this, remember? You’re skipping ahead.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘My bad.’

She looks down at her shoes, suddenly embarrassed. The sand shifts to bloody concrete. A tower looms over them.

‘I really am grateful to you. For keeping me alive.’

‘I didn’t always,’ Bellamy says, grief pouring into his voice. ‘I left you on Earth, and then I didn’t notice when they…’

‘But you tried, Bellamy. You never purposely put me in danger.’ She looks down, and there’s desk in front of them, with ninety-nine names in her writing, and one in his blocky, determined script. ‘You saved me from myself.’

He puts a hand on her shoulder, and she presses her cheek against it.

When Bellamy speaks, it’s soft, and just for her, she knows.

‘If I survive, you survive. That’s what me is saying out there.’

She twists, to look up at him again, meet his gaze. They’re on another beach, another shore. It’s quiet.

They look out at the landscape. The water that she knows evaporated away in the radiation, the hills and trees that were ravaged by flame and death.

‘I wish I knew what you were going to say, this day.’

He looks at her. Waiting for her to clarify.

‘You said my name, and that if you didn’t see me again…then I interrupted you.’ She shakes her head. ‘I refused to consider it. But it’s been six years. I want to know what you were going to say.’

Bellamy shrugs. ‘Maybe you should ask me.’

_She locks you up_

‘I was trying to save you,’ Clarke tells him. He’s sitting on the chair in the bunker’s office. ‘I had you kidnapped from the arena for a reason. I wasn’t going to leave you behind again.’

‘But you left behind my sister.’

Octavia in the mindspace flashes before her.

_(I care about both of you)_

Josephine’s voice, from all around her, echoes.

_(But you care about her more.)_

Clarke swallows.

‘I care about you more.’ It’s the first time she’s said it. It’s almost a relief. She looks up and she’s pointing a gun at him. He’s poised outside the bunker door, staring her down.

‘Is that why you couldn’t pull the trigger?’

Just like then, Clarke bursts into tears.

‘Bellamy. Of course. I-’ she shudders. ‘I-‘

She hears a heavy sigh. Footsteps start towards her, and she’s in an ugly orange space-suit, and he’s hugging her tightly.

_You leave her on Earth_

When she finally calms down, it’s because he’s stroking her back. Whispering. _I’m sorry._

‘You couldn’t have saved me.’

‘I know,’ Bellamy replies. He still sounds devastated.

‘But I wish you had.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you going to save me now?’

He releases her from the embrace, and frowns at her forehead. His knuckles brush her hair back.

‘I hope so.’

Bellamy sits down, and they’re in the bunker. But he’s six years older, bearded, eyes less wild.

Clarke’s gazing at him, hair short. She feels like herself. She also feels totally unlike herself. Skipping six years in the blink of an eye is a trip.

‘If you really did forgive me…’ Clarke starts. He raises her eyebrows. She summons the courage to continue. ‘Does that mean you understand? That Madi is mine. You were a mother bear, too, all those years ago.’

He sighs and pushes his hair back. Clarke misses the curls.

‘A mama of a bear that’s very homicidal now.’

_She leaves you to die in the fighting pits_

It’s the first time she really feels it. That this isn’t Bellamy. That he’s a memory, a projection. She knows him well, of course he’d feel real. But.

‘Bellamy would never make that joke about his sister,’ she tells the memory in front of her. She tries to pass him, but he holds her gaze, and she can’t escape it. Clarke wants to badly to exit the room. He’s just put the flame in Madi. Betrayed her. Put her daughter in danger.

‘What, no slap?’

Clarke shakes her head, slowly. ‘No. I don’t want to relive that again.’

Bellamy chuckles. It’s half him, but half not. ‘Clarke Griffin can relive the death of everyone she’s ever loved. But she can’t relive slapping me in the face after putting the Flame in her daughter.’

She just blinks at him, suddenly so, so tired. ‘Everyone has a weakness right?’

_I mean it’s exhausting, frankly._

He slides out underneath her, and she’s waiting for him. The cryo chamber is eerie, dark. Jordan hasn’t arrived. Bellamy blinks up at her.

‘I wanted to kiss you here,’ she tells him.

He considers this. ‘Why didn’t you?’

Clarke swallows. Her throat is parched. It’s been a hundred years since she’s had a drink. ‘Echo.’ She shakes her head. ‘Everything.’ It’s hard to look at him, thinking about this. She walks away and into the schoolhouse. She knows he’s behind her.

He waits, patiently. That’s all new Bellamy, the willingness to pause.

‘I never wanted you to know. How desperate I was. And then you literally called me pathetic,’ she can’t help but laugh. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’

‘Weren’t you though?’ Bellamy raises his eyebrows.

Clarke dips her head in assent. ‘Maybe, maybe.’

She turns to look at the lantern in front of her. Her sins written carefully in pen, about to float into the sky.

‘My biggest regrets are always you, you know,’ she tells Bellamy. He’s like a shadow now. Always next to her.

‘Always?’

‘Most of the time.’

There’s silence.

‘But never for the right reason. I always regret hurting you. And I always regret not,’ she takes a breath. ‘Not telling you.’

Bellamy’s quiet. She wants him to talk again. She wants to hear it boom around her.

_Tell me about it._

‘Did you know I just met six dead people who basically told me to get over myself and confess?’

Bellamy smiles. ‘Yes.’

Clarke sighs.

‘This isn’t really a confession? Is it?’

He shakes his head. But he still opens his arms, and she steps into them easily. She wants to stay in them forever.

‘But I think you should tell me. If I save you.’ Bellamy whispers into her hair.

‘Wow,’ Clarke remarks. ‘I didn’t know I was capable of optimism. Not with this.’

Bellamy leans back and looks at her. Really looks her. His eyes bore into hers, and Clarke wants nothing more but to see them for real.

‘Well,’ he says. ‘No time like the present. Looking to you, Princess.’

_I hope by the morning I will have grown back_

_By the morning I will have grown back_

_I'll escape with him_

_Show him all my skin_

Clare doesn’t pay attention to the rest of Josephine and Bellamy’s conversation. She’s lost, in thinking about Bellamy. Thinking about Madi. Thinking about what she’ll do the moment she escapes this damn prison.

So she almost doesn’t notice Josephine shouting at her.

‘Clarke! Clarke, god fucking damnit. Listen to me! Clarke!’

‘What?’ she jerks up, and Josephine’s in front of her. She looks supremely unhappy.

‘Looks like you get your wish,’ she snarls, and takes Clarke’s hand. She’s about to protest, when suddenly the senses flood her. The cool air of the cave. The shouting. The slab of stone underneath her. The Child of Gabriel, about to fling an axe into her neck.

Her instinct kicks in. First, negotiate.

‘Wait!’ she yells. God, she doesn’t mean to sound like Josephine or anything, but it’s great to hear her own voice. From her own body. ‘Gabriel loves her. Is this what he would want?’

We don’t care, is the answer, and her body, her wonderful, scarred, own body, kicks in. She barely registers what she does. Survival is second nature. She kicks them away, pushes them into walls, fights for her life. And for Bellamy’s.

She’s breathing heavily when she hears him, from the wall edge.

‘Clarke.’ It’s both a question and an answer. Clarke’s never been so glad to confirm it.

‘Yeah,’ she nods, and moves forward quickly. She has to get these damn cuffs off him. They have to leave.

‘She gave you control?’ Clarke smiles wryly. She can feel Josephine in her head, seething at what happened. But she likes Clarke’s neck too much to regret it.

‘It was either that or get her head cut off.’

She doesn’t say any more. Fiddling with the keys, she tries to find the right one. Damn it, panic. Shouts echo in the distance. They’re coming.

‘We don’t have time, you gotta run!’ Bellamy pleads, grabbing her hands. She doesn’t even have time to appreciate his touch, his real touch.

‘No,’ Clarke gasps. ‘I’m not leaving you.’ Not again. She can’t leave him behind.

But Bellamy isn’t having it. ‘Go find Gabriel. Go, now!’ And Clarke knows he’s right. If she stays, they’ll catch her, and cut off her head. But Bellamy will be okay. She presses the keys into his palm, and he grips her hand, just for a second.

And then, regretting every step, Clarke runs.

She has to. She knows that. But she has unfinished business with Bellamy, and every metre away from him hurts. She wants to go back, save him. Talk to him.

First though, she has to stop her brain imploding. After all, she’s dying. And she can’t do that. Not when she something to tell him.

_and despite everything, I’m still human_

_and I think I’m dying here._

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is so long. What can I say? I love writing me some character insight and monologues. I will always want more introspection, and unfortunately the show rarely has time for in depth conversation. So here's 13k worth!
> 
> You can find me crying on [twitter](http://twitter.com/biakebell) or [tumblr](http://millipop.tumblr.com).


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